I recently read a blog post by West Taylor, Extreme Outlaw Rides| Wild West Mustang Ranch, about his first pack trip. It recalled to my mind the first real horse pack trip I ever took.

It was 1977, and I was 18 and just about to graduate from high school in Tucson, Arizona. My dad was a Boy Scout leader over a group of boys, age 14-16 years, who were wanting to do a “super-activity” for the year. Early in the year they had decided (with a little input from their illustrious adult leader) to make a 100-mile horse pack trip through the White Mountains of Arizona that summer, after school let out. The idea was to give the boys an appreciation of what pioneers of the mid-19th century might have experienced. They weren’t very excited about it at first, but it grew on them. At the time, I think there were about seven or eight boys in the scout patrol.

The plan was for the boys to participate in a series of horsemanship and riding lessons, so they would be competent to handle their own mounts and gear throughout the pack trip. Dad asked me to help teach them. At first they all showed up and all went well, then the enthusiasm started to “peter out”, as they say. For a while there we had a hard time getting anybody to show up at all at the training sessions. Once Dad started them on food preparation, such as making jerky and dried fruits, the boys started getting into the spirit of things.

Somehow, Dad learned about a man in Mesa, Arizona, by the name of Jess Shumway, who had a whole string of horses he would “lend-out” to church groups for activities. Dad got in touch with Mr. Shumway and explained our situation. We ended up going to his place in Mesa and meeting with him. As advertised, Mr. Shumway had over 200 head of horses, all in various stages of breaking and training.

Dad talked to Mr. Shumway about the possibility of getting horses for the trip, having no idea what his terms would be. As it turned out, Mr. Shumway was willing to lend the horses to my dad for the trip, amounting to 30 horses, under one solitary condition: “I get to go too!” So, the deal was made. Jess would lend the horses, assist with the transportation of the livestock, with his stock trailers, and come with us on the trip. What a deal! Jess, I believe, was 65 years old.

A funny thing happened then. The patrol started to grow. By the time school let out and the date for the trip was fast approaching, we had twenty-two boys, all in various stages of their training, anxious to go on the trip. Now the problem was finding several adult leaders who could also ride horses for 100 miles. In the end, we found a couple who could trade off and ride portions of the trip. Dad asked me to come along as another “adult” leader. In truth, I think he needed to have another body along whom he knew he could depend on to help with the horses. I accepted the invitation, of course.

Dad and I busily put our gear together for the trip. Dad bought a couple crossbuck pack saddles and paniers. He bought himself a pair of Batwing chaps, then used it as a pattern to make chaps out of naugahyde for me and each of the boys. They were water proof, I’ll say that for them. We already had our saddles and horses. We planned on taking our two Quarter Horses and my sister’s appaloosa.

The day finally arrived and everyone was excited. We started early in the morning, headed for Mesa, where we loaded the stock into the several trailers, and started our caravan for the mountains. I recall that driving through the Salt River Canyon was a fairly slow and painstaking process, but we made it through without mishap. We arrived at the starting point of our pack trip, about 15 miles east of Show Low, Arizona, just off of highway 260, late in the afternoon. We set up camp and turned our livestock into a corral there at the campsite. Most of us were pretty bushed.

The following morning was when the fun really started. The plan was to be on the trail by about 9:00 am. The camp was stirring and abuzz with life and excitement. The boys worked over breakfast fires and cooking, and exploring, and about everything one can think of, except getting their horses and gear ready to ride.

We finally got them all herded up and going in the right direction – catching up the horses, picking out a mount for each, haltering, brushing, taking them to water, saddling…all the things we had taught them. I was in charge of riding herd on them and making sure everything was done safely and correctly. Boy, was that a chore. I figured out pretty quickly that very few of them had absorbed any of the information we had tried so long to teach them.

I remember watching Dad tie his bedroll on the back of his saddle, but then he got interrupted by a scout who needed a hand. He let go of it for a second and the bedroll unrolled off the back of the horse, spilling his bedding and clothing into the dirt. The horse didn’t like the unrolled sleeping back hanging off over his hindquarters and headed off bucking through the camp, tearing up Dad’s saddle bags and scattering his personal gear around camp. We got him settled down before anybody got hurt, got the clothing and gear gathered up, and the bedroll tied in place.

By this time, the boys were starting to doubt the sanity of all this. I spent all my time rolling, tying, and retying bedrolls, and unpacking and repacking the scouts’ packs, then tying their gear on the saddles, while Dad worked with getting the pack animals rigged up and loaded.

As I was diligently covering my task, suddenly a real ruccus broke loose right in the middle of camp. I looked up to see a pack horse in a full-tilt rodeo-quality buck, heading right through the middle of the camp, with ol’ Jess holding his lead rope and leading the way! Actually, Jess was trying his best to just get out of the way, but as he ran around in circles, the horse just happened to buck in his direction and followed him around. It was quite a sight. Boys, equipment, supplies, and gear were scattering in all directions! Eventually, the paniers went separate ways and the horse ran off and bucked himself out. So much for our eggs! We had gear and food and horse feed spread from one end of camp to the other.

As it turned out, to the best of my recall, here’s what brought on the rodeo. One boy came to my dad and told him something was wrong with his horse. It was trying to kick him. Dad guffawed and told him to just get him saddled up and quit messing around. Well, the kid came back a minute later and said he tried to take the horse to water, but it kept trying to kick him. Well, Dad got impatient, because there was a lot to be done and he couldn’t saddle all the horses for the boys, but he went to help this one boy (I was fully occupied helping others). Dad grabbed the lead and started to lead the horse off to the water hole, and by golly, it tried to cow-kick him. He quickly realized this horse wasn’t yet broke. He called Jess over and asked him about the horse. Jess looked the horse over and exclaimed, “Now, how did this horse get mixed into the stock? He’s not even broke!”  So, the decision was made to turn him into a pack horse.

They decided to blindfold him and see if they could get a packsaddle on him. That actually went ok. Then the paniers.  Surprisingly, that went ok, as well. Then Dad asked a couple of the adult leaders for a hand putting the cover tarp on the packs. That was his mistake. The two inexperienced men grabbed a canvas tarp and walked up behind this unbroke bronc and simply tossed it up on his back without a second thought. That’s what started the rodeo I described above.

Well, after the rodeo, we caught him back up, recovered and re-packed the gear and supplies in the paniers, and I went over to help Dad try him again. We blindfolded the young horse and had Jess hold his lead. We made sure the pack saddle was cinched up good, then, with me on one side, and Dad on the other, we simultaneously lifted the paniers onto the saddle. He stood for it. He didn’t like having the tarp pulled over the packs, nor did he like it when we cinched up the diamond hitch, but he stood for it. Once we got his pack tied on well, we let loose the blindfold. He went round and round a bit, but didn’t buck and with the weight of the packs he soon settled down.

By this time it was long after lunch. Most of the pack horses had been loaded and waiting for hours. They laid down where they were and waited. We finally got all the boys loaded up and mounted. By the time we rolled out of camp, it was about 4:00 pm. We had 22 Boy Scouts, five adult leaders (including Dad and myself), Jess, 34 horses, and one little donkey to carry Jess’ packs.

What an undertaking!

So that was the first day of my first real pack trip. Sort of baptism by fire. Sad thing is that we have lost all the pictures we took of the trip. Not a one to show for it. Good memories, though, and sometimes pictures can hinder the telling of a good story.

I’ll write up the rest of the trip in another post.